Redeeming Grace
by focsfyr
Summary: Sequel to Empty Promises.  Can Youji heal the damage Aya has inflicted upon Ken's heart?


Title: Redeeming Grace (sequel to Empty Promises)  
Part: 1/1  
Author: focsfyr  
Pairing: Youji+Ken  
Warnings: yaoi, blood, oral sex, bit of language, death of minor characters, bastardized Aya and sexually aggressive Ken  
Rating: R  
Disclaimer: I don't own the Weiъ boys, if I did I'd actually _have_ money instead of just wishing I did.  
Archive: my site Whispers in the Dark, (pen name D. focsfyr) and the official archives of the ML's I send this to. Other than that, please ask  
C&C: feeeeed meeeee!

Spoilers: Kaze and Asuka (sort of)

Authors note: for convenience's sake, the guys all have rooms above the Koneko that they use pre- and post-mission. It's not cannon. Deal with it.

And, of course, my eternal thanks to Hallucynogenic, Kumori and Lilas for beta-ing and being sweet enough to tear this to shreds when I asked. You guys are great!

* * *

Hey did you ever get the feeling that it's really a joke  
You think you've got it figured out and then you find that you don't...  
...Then suddenly you hear it it's the beat of your heart  
And for the first time in your life you know your life is about to start-Poe "Walk the walk" 

::thoughts::

**REDEEMING GRACE**

The humidity weighed heavily in the air, muting the idle rumble of machinery long since shut down for the night. Oppressive, damp...it was a restless night, too lethargic to do aught but lull you to sleep, but too stiflingly warm to permit you to rest. Everything about it was nervous and tense, from the monotonous buzz of fluorescent lights to the footsteps of one of two men, pacing back and forth across a puddle of light splashed across the parking lot.

Unnerved by the white noise and stillness that filled the night, the taller of the two men paced around the car his companion was lounging upon, tugging nervously at the hem of his jacket as if it were somehow askew. Ignoring the other man's fidgeting, the man on the car lit a cigarette and took a long pull.

::Fujita Takeo,:: Youji mentally tagged the smoker. ::and Arasen Shiira, two of the more influential drug dealers in the city...and the only ones the police couldn't seem to get any dirt on.:: They had probably just paid off the cops so they would stay out of their hair, but tonight these two were to receive a sample of a new drug more potent than heroin and cheaper than crack.

Once it hit the streets, it would sell like wildfire. But what the Mafiosi suppliers hadn't told the dealers was that the drug was a dangerous combination of chemicals that made the user completely fearless and very susceptible to suggestions, creating an effect almost as if the person had been brainwashed. [1 Once the local gangs figured that out, all hell would break loose.

Youji brushed an errant strand of hair away from his face and fidgeted with his garrote wire as he waited -- less than patiently -- for Aya to take out the suppliers and Omi to finish hacking the building's surveillance system. It was all well and good for the people who used this complex to see their buyers waiting in the appointed place, but leaving behind a video record of Weiъ's kill was out of the question.

Youji wrinkled his nose as the faint scent of menthol reached his nose. He didn't know how people could smoke those things, they tasted like crap! Of course, some people would argue that _all_ cigarettes tasted like crap...a certain brunette, for example.

The lanky blond glanced upward, eyes seeking out the place he knew Ken was lurking, even though he couldn't see him. The shadows atop the concrete wall weren't very thick, but the ex-soccer player had the advantage of height and, when lying flat, was completely invisible to the people on the ground.

A tangle beneath his fingers turned Youji's thoughts back to the present. ::Fuck it, I can't be zoning out in the middle of a mission! Pull yourself together, Youji!:: Though gloved, the blonde's nimble fingers quickly untangled the nervous knots fouling his wire. They'd better get the attack command soon, because Youji wasn't sure he could stay still much longer...

"Bombay here," Omi's voice crackled through the earpiece, "Mission accomplished."[2

With those words Balinese exploded from the shadows, the rhythm of his booted feet masking the soft tempo of Siberian's as the brunette matched him step for step.

Youji caught a bare glimpse of two pairs of terrified eyes before his focus narrowed to the pacer, trusting Ken's speed and agility to take out the other. The soccer player may be a bit of a klutz sometimes, but his movements were flawless when it came to a mission. Ken could be quiet as a ghost, just like he was now as he silently leapt to the ground and launched himself toward the smoker.

At the moment of Ken's attack, Youji struck.

The gun Arasen had fumbled so desperately to find fell to the ground as a coil of wire encircled his neck. Panic overriding reason, the man struggled wildly, fingers raking bloody furrows down his own throat as he tried to free himself.

Youji threw another loop of wire over Arasen's head, biting into the soft flesh of the man's wrist and pinning it against his neck. One sharp pull and the razor sharp wire drew blood from the drug dealer's skin. One more tug and a twist of the wrist, and it severed the artery in Arasen's neck, sending a mist of blood into the air.

Youji turned just in time to get a visual image to accompany the sticky squelch as Siberian planted a foot on the back of Fujita's head, holding it still so he could pull his claws from the man's skull with one swift yank.

Blood covered Ken's hands, dripping from his claws to splatter darkly on the concrete. A streak of crimson slashed across Ken's cheek where he had tried to brush his unruly hair from his eyes.

Cold, dead eyes that burned into Youji's soul and made him want to weep with loss.

What had happened to the Ken that he knew, the wounded child trying so hard to hide behind a happy-go-lucky attitude and forced smile?

Ken had always tried to keep up a cheerful front, because when everyone else was upset or worried, the light of his smile would soothe their souls and say without words that everything would be alright. Though surrounded on all sides by evil and despair, that grain of hope was enough to halt panic's hand and make almost anyone feel safe and loved.

But their hope was gone, vanished a month ago. Something had happened to strip Ken of his illusions, and he no longer had the will to keep up the pretense.

The soft patter of footsteps trickled down from above as Omi hurried down the stairs. "Balinese! Siberian! Time to get out of here!" The youngest member of Weiъ hardly gave them a glance as he headed for the exit.

Youji blinked. Omi wasn't usually that abrupt. "What about..."

A malevolent bit of blackness detached itself from the shadows and stalked to the edge of the bloodied pool of light. ::Well, well. Speak of the Devil and He will appear.:: The faint glimmer of fiery hair resolved into the arctic chill of their ostensible 'leader.'

Youji watched coolly as Aya lifted his katana in front of his body and snapped it downward with a sharp flick of his wrist, blood sluicing from his blade to fall in a wide arc across the concrete. The man sheathed his katana in one fluid motion and followed Omi's retreating footsteps toward the parking lot exit, passing Youji, then Ken without even acknowledging their presence.

::Bastard,:: Youji inwardly growled::Oh yeah? Well I don't give a fuck whether you live or die either, jackass!:: He snorted softly as he began to follow. Sometimes Youji just wished he could do something unbearably obnoxious and immature to Ice-cold Aya. Maybe super-glue his coffee mug to the counter, or give him a wedgie during peak hours at the store...

::Nah.:: That'd be worth a few laughs, but not worth getting the business end of a katana shoved down his throat. He would've asked Ken for a few suggestions -- the guy had enough pranks to start his own joke shop! -- but what he saw when he turned banished the thought from his mind.

The younger man walked past Youji without even glancing at him, but for just a moment -- after Aya had passed him -- there had been some tangled emotion in those world-weary brown eyes.

Anger and fear were present and accounted for. There was disgust with himself and for the redhead, betrayal and caring and hatred and sorrow...but over it all, a deep-seated pain. And while all these feelings could be explained away, whether by stress or the missions or unrequited love, there was one that had no business haunting Kenken's dark eyes.

Someone so caring should never feel such overwhelming shame.

* * *

It sickened him, the sticky slickness of blood. He could feel himself cringing away from its touch on his skin, in his hair, slowly congealing on his clothes.

The gruesome stains of a life that should have been longer.

Ken stripped off his jacket and dropped his bugnuks to the floor, blood stained claws still extended. Much as he was growing to hate the sight of his weapon, it wouldn't do to let the claws retract before they were cleaned. It would gum up the release and dull the edges...maybe even get him killed.

Moving mechanically, his hand rose and caught the hem of his shirt, drawing it over his head. After it was deposited in the sink, he moved on to his pants. They, too, ended up in the sink, and when he turned on the faucet, the water ran red.

Red.

It was such a lovely color, really. Vivid and vibrant and brilliantly _alive_ despite the tragedy that came when it was spilled. Blood red was the color of life. Birth...death...it kept council for both, red when you were born and red when you died.

It was an enchanting contradiction in and of itself, but nauseatingly morbid when splashed across pavement. The very image of viscous crimson running from wounds to pool on the ground, slowly darkening to a dull red-brown as it dried and flaked and clung to your skin...

Ken lunged for the toilet, and none too soon. He hadn't eaten that evening, so there wasn't much to throw up, but he dry-heaved until his stomach muscles ached, because every breath he took held the metallic tang of blood and he could feel its slimy touch all over his body.

When the convulsions finally eased, he rinsed out his mouth and reluctantly steeled himself to finish the task of cleaning his clothes. Unconsciously trying not to touch the dark stains, Ken rinsed out as much of the blood as he could, then filled up the sink and left them to soak.

The very thought of finding even a single bloodstain on them the next time he put on his mission gear turned his stomach. It nauseated Ken to the point where he almost dove for the toilet again, but resolutely fought off the feeling and instead opened the window. Night air poured into the room. Not much considering the lack of a breeze, but still enough to steal away the stench of death, clearing his mind and settling his stomach.

Ken stripped off his boxers and walked to the shower, turning the water on full blast and stepping in without care for the icy cold that shocked the breathe from his lungs. Right now, washing away the evidence of his double life was much higher on his list of priorities than waiting for warm water.

He just needed to be clean...to feel clean in body, even though his spirit was so blackened and tarnished and encrusted with blood, scorched by the fires of his self-made hell that nothing ever created could scour it clean.

He was just one more lost soul among many.

The slowly warming water cleansed the grime from his weary form, the blood on his hands turning the soap faintly pink. Straggles of hair clung wetly to his face, the clots of dried blood making it stick together in ratty tangles as he scrubbed his scalp.

He scrubbed and he scratched and he pulled at his hair with an air of desperation because he couldn't get _clean_. It was like the ghosts of those he damned when he ripped out their lives would haunt him forever in the stubborn streaks of red that clung to him and the crescents of dark scarlet embedded under his nails. They just wouldn't _leave_ until he atoned; until his own body lay butchered and broken at their feet...

But they were.

They were slowly fading, washed down the drain with his hopes and his fears, his guilt and despair. It took almost forever, but he was finally free, bronzed skin so spotless it shouldn't grace his tainted soul. After almost an eternity he wrapped himself in a towel and stumbled down the hall to his wreck of a room. Each step was hesitant, he had scrubbed so hard that he felt like a bundle of raw nerves.

But it was worth it, he was clean. It had taken forever, but he was clean. He glanced at the clock burrowed in the clutter of his dresser.

...It had taken fifteen minutes.

How could fifteen minutes be so long? Within that short time he could have lived and died and still felt like he'd lived for centuries too long. He could have...

He stopped.

He could have

...ended

...his

...life.

All this time it had been there, lurking...waiting. He had the weapon, and the need, and no one to miss him. All he'd been lacking was the time and the place.

The emptiness in his soul beckoned.

The gaping wounds in the heart of one hopeless assassin heard...

...and answered.

* * *

Long legs wriggled out from under the sheets and kicked the light blanket to the foot of the bed. Determined to fall asleep now that he'd untangled himself, Youji closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Again.

He rolled over on to his stomach to relieve the crick in his neck. It was still too warm, even though he was only covered by a thin sheet. Youji's mouth puckered into a sullen pout. ::Why does any room I live in stay so fuckin' hot?::

Had someone else asked the question, they would've gotten no more than a flippant remark and suggestive innuendo. Unfortunately, smart commentary didn't work when there was no one else to hear it.

It was amazing really, but somehow, while all the rooms were lightly air conditioned, only _his_ room managed to stay hot no matter how high he turned on the fan. When it was cold outside, Youji's room was nice and warm, but tonight wasn't cold by any stretch of the imagination. Hell, it wasn't even _cool_! Tonight, the humidity just seemed to enhance what scant warmth there was.

It was going to be an uncomfortable night.

The sweat from the mission still clung to his skin and the air was heavy with moisture. It was too hot to wear any sort of clothes to bed because they just held the heat in, but when he had stripped down and leaped into bed, the sheets clung unpleasantly to his skin. Youji tried shoving _all_ the covers to the foot of the bed, but though he wasn't even slightly body shy, he _was_ an assassin, and the killer in him felt exposed.

His investigator side was almost worse, because the faint sense of vulnerability made his detective instincts work double-time. With his mind running a mile a minute to track every noise and flicker of movement, there was no _way_ the blond was going to fall asleep.

Youji sighed. ::Fuck this!:: He pulled on his boxers and stalked out of the room, snatching up a pack cigarettes on the way.

He was halfway down the hall before he realized he didn't have a lighter. It was still in the pocket of the pants he'd worn on the mission. The ones he'd already tossed in the wash.

Shit.

He chewed disgustedly on the end of an unlit cigarette and then continued on his way down the hall, pausing when he reached Ken's room.

The door to Ken's room was ajar, so the younger man couldn't be doing anything _too_ private...could he? Oh well. An open door was as good as an invitation to entry, so...

"Hey, Ken? Ya got a lighter..." Youji stopped, mouth falling open in shock. "Ken?" he questioned softly.

The brunette's head turned slightly, just enough that the streetlights highlighted the curve of his cheek, unruly bangs overshadowing his eyes. A faint shiver shook the soccer player's frame, nearly dislodging the towel from his hips. Youji's eyebrows crinkled in concern when his usually modest teammate made no move to hike the cloth back up to his waist. Ken just stood there silently with his arms wrapped around himself, staring vacantly out the window.

Youji stepped hesitantly into the room, easing the door closed behind him. This was no time to for unwelcome interruptions. "...Are you..." ::No, stupid question, Kudou. If he was all right you wouldn't be worried.:: "...What's wrong?" ::Better. Not perfect, but better.::

The blond slowly advanced, growing more and more worried as the silence stretched out. "Ken -- "

"Don't you ever feel it?" The amusement in Ken's voice was chillingly flat, bitter and cynical as it had never been before.

Youji blinked. "It depends..." he inched closer, eyes fastened on the back of Ken's shoulders, "...on what you're talking about."

"Empty. Like there's a hole in your life that nothing can fix and all you can hope for is a distraction that'll let you forget for a while."

The words wrenched at Youji's heart. It was a sentiment he had heard far too often, spoken with the depressed, bitter tone of a world-weary man who had nothing to live for and nothing to lose. It was the kind of voice you'd expect from someone who had been suddenly cast out onto the streets. Like the shock was just now setting in.

A feminine laugh brushed the surface of his memory before being quickly shunted away to the shadowed subconscious. He could dream of lost love later. Right now, he had other things to take care of. "Yes...I do."

The corner of Ken's mouth gave a mirthless smile. "Sometimes I feel like there's no tomorrow. Like I'm already dead and I just haven't realized it yet. I keep running and running on nothing, working at the shop and dealing out death."

Youji began to speak, but didn't get the chance.

"And I think 'how ironic to be killed by someone who might as well be dead himself.' I pieced my life back together as best I could when I found out my family disowned me, and when Kaze betrayed me, and when I killed him...

"I've tried to forget, but all I end up doing is making myself sink further into darkness."

Youji jumped when Ken laughed, the sound too harsh to do otherwise. "But all you White Knights somehow manage to stay relatively clean."

Shocked into silence by the outrageous assumption, Youji's first impulse was to laugh it off. Ken, of all people, knew how ridiculously false that statement was! The brunette couldn't _possibly_ believe what he stated so casually... But something in his voice said that he really _did_ believe it. Ken actually thought he alone bore any guilt, and Youji was quick to refute it.

"What the hell are you talking about? Me? _Clean?_ Wake up, Kenken, I've earned my own little corner of hell...We _all_ have. We're _assassins._ There's no way to avoid the dirt if you're gonna live this life. No matter how you look at it -- us doing right or wrong -- we're still killers.

"And I mean -- fuck! Just _look_ at me! Look me in the eye and say I'm not totally gone on escapism! I drink, I smoke, I date anything on legs that's of proper age and looks good... It keeps me distracted and lets me forget, but you know...not one drunken night has let me forget, and not one of those girls has _ever_ made me happy."

Youji's lips twisted into a pained smirk. Baring his soul wasn't something he did easily, but somehow he felt like Ken needed to hear it, needed to know that he wasn't alone in his pain. "All I end up with is the feeling that I'm a whore so cheap that I bribe people to bed me."

"But you still do it," Ken returned on the heels of Youji's statement. "If it's really so bad, why keep doing it? Do you like being a whore, Youji?"

Ken advanced upon his friend, feet noiseless on the polished wood floor.

Youji desperately searched for something to say, but his mind couldn't seem to fit the words together. A disturbing glimmer haunted Ken's dark eyes. Every bone in the blonde's body screamed for him to run away, to just get himself _out_ of there before...be-- Before what ever was going to happen _did._ Each steady step backed the blond closer to the wall.

"Or are you so addicted that you just can't stop. Sex, blood, pain...does it lure you in like a moth to flame? Knowing you'll burn, but that it's only your due?"

Youji felt the brunette's breath gusting over his lips as the space between them dwindled. Their gazes were locked. Ken lifted his hand to his own neck and trailed it down his hard chest and abs. "Nothing will repair the hole in your heart, but you can damn well try to...fill it."

Youji found himself shaking as Ken loosened the towel, lips coming closer...closer. "Ken, what are you doing?" he whispered, heart pounding with...something...that felt like lust and tasted like fear.

There was no answer. The brunette lightly brushed Youji's lips with his own, then strong hands gripped Ken's shoulders and pushed him away. Ken frowned in annoyance and tried to close the distance again, but Youji held him still. "Ken! What are you -- _why_ -- ?"

"Because I want to," he replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He leaned in only to, once again, be balked by his teammate.

"That's not an answer, Ken," Youji said, face solemn.

"I know you like guys, but you've never shown the slightest bit of interest in _me_, so why the change? When did you get so...jaded?" He felt the soccer player tense. Deciding to take a different tack, Youji loosened his grip and gingerly slid his arms around the teen, hoping the awkward gesture would help soothe his friend. "What's hurting you so bad?"

The silence drew out.

"Was it Aya? That bastard's not worth your pain... You're so much better than that --"

"No I'm _not_," Ken snarled, wrenching himself free of the blonde's embrace. He stumbled back a few steps before regaining his balance. White-knuckled fingers dug into his arms and his eyes tightened, though whether in anger or pain it was impossible to tell. "I don't _need_ your pity. It's not just Aya, it's _everyone._ Everyone I slept with to forget what I am and didn't even bother to ask me my fucking name. It's every careless drunk that looked deeper into my soul than my self-proclaimed friends and every yen ever left in return for a screw."

"Yen? They paid y -- " Ken jerked away as Youji tried to touch him. The blond drew back as if burned.

"_Don't. touch. me_!" Ken spat. "You think you're so bad with your girls and your booze -- but don't even _talk_ to me 'bout being dirty -- a whore! I've been there, I've done that, I've _been_ paid for sex -- I haven't asked for the money, but I've _never_ turned it down.

"I brought this upon myself from the moment I bought into this life. I sold my soul to the darkness inside and got in return the strength to hide from everything. So now I charm you all with my trusting eyes and let my blushes label me innocent.

"I play at the fool, the innocent little toy, but believe me, Youji, I've been _around._ Fucked in dark corners and under the moon. Public and private, gentle and hard. I've been screwed to the mattress and laughed at the bruises.

"I've done it _all_ and it's _always_ good."

In an uncharacteristically bold move, Ken cupped the bulge in the older man's boxers, sliding to his knees as he pulled them down to bunch around Youji's thighs.

Ken gave a short cynical laugh. "Youji, you bastard, you're in for one hell of a ride." With that sultry promise, Youji found himself engulfed in wet heat and his hands tangled themselves in Ken's hair.

The blond thought he would pass out from the sheer amount of blood leaving his head for his groin. His knees weakened under Ken's skillful tongue, head lolling back and eyes sliding shut. Rivulets of lightning curled through his body.

::God _damn_! Where'd he... God, Ken...what are you _doing_ to me?:: Oh, Ken was good, he hadn't exaggerated that!

But something...something was wrong. Youji remembered resisting at first...why? He couldn't seem to remember. Every time he started to gather his thoughts, a burst of pleasure would sear through his veins, scattering the pieces before he could puzzle them out.

He forced himself to focus past the haze of pleasure, hands clenching tightly to still Ken's dizzying movements...

Youji's haphazard train of thoughts screeched to a halt. Ken shouldn't be doing this. Not his sweet Ken.

It took a heroic effort for Youji to pull back, but he managed to force those sinful lips away.

The claw-wielding assassin gave him a _look._

"No, Ken...no," the blond choked out between labored breaths, "I can't let you-- I can't..."

"You know you want to. Don't fight."

"I _CAN'T_! This isn't like you -- "

"Not _like_ me? Of course it's _like_ me! If it wasn't part of me, I wouldn't be so damn _good_ at it!"

Youji shook his head, eyes tearing. "No."

Ken lurched to his feet and shoved Youji back against the wall. "Dammit Youji! Don't you _get_ it? The innocent isn't real! The blushes, the excuses... They're _all lies_! They're not me. I'm not the perfect little boy next door. I don't love, I don't care, I don't blush when someone flirts. It's a show I put on for sanity's sake, so _don't_ try to protect me. That fight's long lost!"

"No, it's not. If it weren't like you to be kind, you wouldn't be. If it wasn't in you to care, to give us hope when we're down, there's no chance in heaven or hell that you could fake it. You could go through the actions, but nothing can imitate the concern you show. If you really didn't care there wouldn't be so much pain in your eyes, and I wouldn't love you so much --"

"Love?" Ken scoffed. "You think this is about _love_?"

"Yes."

Youji's chest tightened as Ken fell silent, dark eye slightly glazed with shock. Ken was speechless and obviously didn't know what to say. Youji could only hope that the lack off mocking words was a _good_ sign, because he, himself was struggling with the truth of that admission.

However Youji looked at it, his feelings for the younger man ran deep. He loved Ken dearly. The man kept him sane. He wasn't _in_ love with Ken -- that level of intensity was still reserved for Asuka -- but in a world devoid of caring, Ken was the one Youji held dear. He was a friend, a brother and a reliable partner, but it seemed that Youji's feelings had gradually grown to include 'lover' in that definition.

He could feel his heart sink as Ken's face saddened and his eyes grew pitying. "You fool," he said, "You naОve little fool, you don't know half as much as you think you do. Love is something built on understanding and friendship. Friendship is based on mutual trust. When you come down to it, you don't have either. We work together. That's it."

"No it's not! You _are_ my friend, and --"

"_You. Don't. Know. Me._ And if you ever do, you'll regret it." Ken smiled softly, year's worth of sadness and heartache surfacing for a moment. "I appreciate what you're trying to do Youji. Thank you, but words aren't going to make things all better. There are _so_ many things you don't know about me, and once you do, I doubt you'll still want to help."

He cut off the blonde's protest with a wave of his hand.

"I'm dirty, Youji... And not just with blood. I've got more secrets than you, or Omi...even more than Aya. I hide them much better than the rest of you combined. I don't hide with silence or smiles, but with the illusion of honesty. I seem so open with my feelings that it's nearly impossible to see past the lies. I never give anyone reason to suspect that there's more than what they see.

"Tell me, Youji. How can you trust what you see and observe when you don't even know which actions to look past? For all you know, you're seeing through one mask just to be blinded by another.

"What do you do when the honesty is just a web of lies? Is that really something you can bear?"

For the first time in much too long, Ken let go of all pretenses and forced himself to speak nothing but truth. Everyone knew that the soccer player hated being lied to, but never realized that it was due in part to how much he hated living his own lies. But no matter how much he despised himself for being so hypocritical, Ken knew in his heart that without those fallacies, he wouldn't survive. The multitude of masks didn't just hide him from the world; they also hid the world from him, filtering out the facts that would be too harsh for him to live with.

Youji was intelligent. He could see what Ken was doing, and that the brunette's ruthless statement of cold, hard fact was meant to drive home the point that Youji seemed so reluctant to grasp.

He knew absolutely nothing about the man that he had long considered his best friend. In their years of working together, Ken had held him while he cried. He had been there when no one else could or would understand, and yet, for all their closeness, he was still a stranger.

Ken had long been considered the least complicated member of Weiъ. His motives were clear-cut, his past commonly known, he was a ruthless assassin and yet still held an aura of trust and innocence. He was a simple, straight-forward breath of fresh air in their dark and dangerous world. Only now did Youji see just how wrong he had been.

There were depths to the brunette that he had never imagined and cunningly hidden hurt that had never once been hinted at. The Ken that he knew didn't exist, except perhaps on the most superficial of levels.

And yet...

Yet the eldest member of Weiъ found himself aching for this not-quite stranger. He wanted to hold him in his arms and soothe the hurt away and heal the festering wounds in his soul. He wanted to listen, and understand, and then hunt down the ones that had caused all that hurt.

Ken was _his_ to protect and love and learn. He wanted to kiss and taste every inch of that skin, then make love to him slowly to heal the wounds cause by those come before him.

Ken was an enigma, a beautiful mystery. One Youji yearned to spend year after year exploring.

But was he strong enough -- _patient_ enough to coax his way past the lies?

"Yes."

All the evening's pain and conflicts were worth the expression of hope that flashed in Ken's eyes.

"You're right, I don't know you. I thought I did, but I was wrong. I don't... But I want to. So the question isn't whether I can stand the lies, it's whether you'll let me try."

He brushed the lightest hint of a kiss across Ken's cheek.

"What do you say, Ken? Will you?"

Even without hearing the word, he knew the answer was 'yes.' Hesitant though Ken's smile was, it was all the more beautiful for being real.

OWARI

[1 Imaginary drug vaguely inspired by the manga "Gunsmith Cats"

[2 Alright, who let Heero into the Weiъ universe?


End file.
